Author: Catherine

Blue Horses: Part Two

Ukrainian Blue Horse Whistle by Olga Berdnik-Otniakina

The Return of the Ukrainian Blue Horse

Last year, I wrote of finding a blue horse statue outside an Illinois hospice facility after saying final goodbyes to my sister, and the uncanny way that the world can speak to us through symbols and synchronicities.

Today, I share the story of another blue horse—one that I said goodbye to but came back into my life in a surprising way.

In 2010, an energy healing client invited me to her home for lunch. As she bustled around in the kitchen, I looked around her cozy apartment. On a nearby shelf were three distinctive pottery figures painted in bright colors. I recognized them immediately because they had once graced my home. They were painted clay whistles that had been fashioned by my Ukrainian friend Olga Berdnik-Otniakina (facebook.com/olga.berdnic).

Olga was a single mother when she first came to the Women’s Center in Cherkasy, Ukraine. There she was introduced to expressive arts, and with the support of the group, she poured her passion for folklore and fairytales into making clay whistles. The whistles had been a traditional handicraft. Her work, often compared to the wooden figures of Oaxaca, Mexico, is now in international galleries and collections. 

I had purchased the three whistles many years earlier. Two were fanciful beasts and the third was a blue horse. I asked my client where she got them. A few days prior to our lunch, she had bought them at a hospice thrift store. She was told that they had just been put on the shelf for sale. Without knowing about my interest in women and horses, and before telling my client of their history, she handed me the blue horse and said, “I think that this is yours.”

Seven years earlier, I had hosted an invitation-only moving sale. My friend Barbara Daniels-Love purchased many items that evening, including the Ukrainian whistles. Barbara, a vibrant Black activist, died in March 2004 when her pickup truck flipped over in dense California tule fog. I later surmised that her family or coworkers must’ve donated them to the hospice thrift store six years after her death.

On the day that she died, before I had learned of Barbara’s death, I painted my nine-sided drum—with a blue horse. I had taken the day off to paint the drum after doing a dialogue process with the Horse Ancestors.  Weeks earlier, they had advised me to procure the drum and to create an “Equine Equinox” ceremony (see my blog post on celebrating the equine equinox here). On this March 2004 day, they counseled me to paint my drum and create ritual to welcome it. I meditated about what to paint, and the blue horse and other images from a dream the previous December came to me. 

As I painted a red zigzag on the drum, I mused that it looked like a “river of blood.” Searching within for its meaning, it felt appropriate as I was going through my passage into menopause. Little did I know that a few hours earlier, Barbara had just passed over the river of blood and the land of the living to the realm of her African ancestors.

Blue Horse Drum, Catherine Held 2004

The Blue Horse drum came with me to her memorial, and I used it to celebrate the first Equine Equinox. And the Ukrainian Blue Horse? It later disappeared in my 2012 move to Petaluma. After years of searching, I finally unearthed it several years ago from a box in my garage. It typically sits on my desk now but sometimes resides on my bedroom altar or travels to ceremonies. 

For decades, blue horses have filled my dreams and artwork and shamanic visions. I also happen upon them, especially recently. Visting a friend in Colorado this October, I purchased a blue horse t-shirt, and she showed me a book of poetry that sits near her bed, Lucia Tapahonso’s wonderful Blue Horses Rush In. The signature poem tells about the birth of a baby girl who arrives amid a herd of many-colored horses. 

I discovered that the Denver International Airport has a controversial blue horse statue nicknamed “Blucifer” (the name combines blue and the fallen angel/demon Lucifer), for its glowing red eyes and because its artist Luis Jiménez was killed in the making of it. Two weeks ago in meditation, a herd of blue horses came to me. Last week a loved one alerted me to “Reach Horse” by watercolor artist Carol Carter.

What do all these blue horses mean?  In the Council of the Horses Oracle wisdom deck by Sarah Wallin and Kim McElroy, the Blue Horse lives in between heaven and earth to incubate our human dreams and help manifest them. Each time I ask them their purpose, I receive a different response depending on the current circumstances, so, much as I would like to, I can’t give a definitive answer. I can say, however, that having so many blue horses show up in the last month has nudged me to write this blog post and fueled a new determination to complete my book.

References

Bailey, Cameron. “Blucifer: The Story of Denver Airport’s ‘Blue Mustang’ Sculpture from Luis Jiménez.” Uncover Colorado. Last modified August 13, 2024. Accessed November 16, 2024. https://www.uncovercolorado.com/blucifer-blue-mustang-statue-denver-airport/.

Carter, Carol. Reach Horse. Watercolor. Accessed November 16, 2024. https://www.carol-carter.com/newest-work/reach-horse.

Tapahonso, Luci. Blue Horses Rush in: Poems and Stories. Tucson: University of Arizona Press, 1998.

Wallin, Sandra, and Kim McElroy. The Council of Horses Oracle: A 40-Card Deck and Guidebook. Illustrated by Kim McElroy. Rochester, VT: Bear and Company, 2024.

Blue Horses: Part One

After saying prayers and goodbyes to my sister’s lifeless body last October, I walked out of the hospice facility. The sun had just risen. It was a brisk fall Illinois morning. Orange and red leaves glowed against the blue-gray sky. Deadened meadow flowers hung black and limp in the frost. And there, emerging from the meadow grass, I saw two horse statues that appeared to be mother and child. The small one was white, but it was the taller blue horse that caught my attention. Transfixed, I walked over to them for a closer inspection. I took photos with my phone as I marveled. Donated by grateful families, the blue horse is “Hope Reigns,” and the younger horse is “Joyful Spirit.” 

White and blue horses in the staff recognition garden of the JourneyCare Hospice Center, Barrington, Illinois

This was not the first time that a blue horse has caught my attention. Indeed, the blue horse has been a recurring figure—in my dreams, my shamanic journeys and in my art—for about two decades. Months before my sister’s death, and now, months after her death, the blue horse has revealed itself again and again to me.

The blue horse resides in a land beyond words, beyond time, beyond everyday dimensions. It lives in imaginal consciousness—a very real world that so often is at the periphery of our conscious knowing. We get glimpses from time to time which often fascinate and remind us of the divine. My relationship with the imaginal world and its intelligence led me to leave a high-paying profession to become an art therapist—and later to follow its guidance to pick up another path, and then another path. Following symbolic wisdom has been my trustiest compass. A blue horse helped me before upon the death of a loved one, reminding me in my grief that we are not alone in our suffering—and surely was the reason behind the statues residing in the memory garden of the hospice center. 

And I am not alone. Blue horses have come to other artists and writers. German artist Franz Marc painted blue horses. His art was banned by the Nazis because it was not realistic and was therefore a threat to society. An art teacher introduced beloved children’s author Eric Carle to Franz Marc’s blue horses when he was just twelve. In one of his last books, Carle credited the blue horses as the impetus for his prolific career resulting in more than seventy books. Marc’s blue horses—and the artist’s death in World War I—also inspired Mary Oliver to choose her Blue Horses poem as the title for one of her poetry collections near the end of her life. 

In my next blog post, I will share more about how specific blue horses have come to me—in mysterious and synchronistic ways—and why this very real world of symbolic wisdom is so important for us. 

References 

Carle, Eric. The Artist Who Painted a Blue Horse. New York: Penguin Random House, LLC.(2011). 

Oliver, Mary. Blue Horses: Poems. New York: The Penguin Press. (2014). 

For more information about Franz Marc, see https://www.franzmarc.org/ and https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Franz_Marc 

 

Boots: Musings on Taking a Leap

Two weeks after I left the bank to become an art therapist, I became pregnant with my first child. I have always believed that my son incarnated when he did once he saw that I was on the path of the heart. This painting takes me back to that time.

“Boots” by Catherine Held, 1990

More than thirty years ago, I took a painting class from Sonoma State University (SSU) professor and noted artist Bill Morehouse. I needed to fulfill prerequisites for the master’s degree in art therapy. On the strength of Suzanne Lovell’s weekend extension course in transpersonal art therapy, and the images that bubbled up afterward from a daily art journal, I had quit a well-paying job at a business bank to pursue art therapy. It was quite a leap. Until reading the description in the SSU extension catalog, I had never even heard of art therapy before, but it felt like the profession had been tailor made for me. In the five years before I applied to the program, I had learned everything I could about psychology and personal healing, and I had always made art, crafts and worked with my hands. Then, two weeks after leaving the bank, as I prepared to become an art therapist, I became pregnant with my son.

I signed up to take a sculpture class only to learn at the first class that we would be using power tools and being exposed to chemicals. Afraid that they would harm my baby, I quickly transferred to a painting class. One of our first assignments was to create a self-portrait by painting an autobiographical object.

Three years into my second marriage, I was still getting my footing as a wife and as a stepmom to two girls. As much as I longed for a baby, I was fearful about becoming a mom. I didn’t want to screw it up. I was afraid of losing sleep because I had a breakdown experience when I was twenty years old, partly precipitated by lack of sleep. I worried about losing my independence and spontaneity. I worried that I did not know how to mother a boy. I worried that I was woefully unqualified.

As I surveyed special keepsakes looking for an autobiographical object, I suddenly thought of my boots. They were the leather boots I bought for myself when I went off to University of California, Santa Cruz at age eighteen. Bookish and shy, I bought the boots for a person I did not yet inhabit. They were a rich mahogany, with leather braid on the outside of each boot. The length of the boots and deep vee shape in the front accentuated my long legs. When I tucked my jeans into them, they made my legs look longer still. They always made me feel confident, sexy and more adventurous.

Long after college, I wore them every Halloween when I would dress as a gypsy. My last October at the bank, I read tarot cards to my co-workers in those boots. (They didn’t know that the readings were informed by my secret interest in metaphysics.) I loved those boots and had them re-soled numerous times. Although my business flats were far more practical and well-used, just knowing my boots were still waiting in my closet was reassuring.

Bill Morehouse showed us how to stretch the canvas and use a staple gun. I painted and re-painted the boots on canvas trying to capture dimensionality. The real struggle was trying to paint my essential self—a self that was about to be irrevocably changed as mother to an infant. New to acrylic painting, I was grateful for Bill’s end-of-term comment. “Keep painting,” he said.

I painted the boots to immortalize them and to challenge myself to not lose myself in the needs of others. Now, three decades later, I notice some things about the image. When I look at the painting, my legs remember how the leather lay in wrinkles on my ankles. I notice that the top of the left boot forms a heart shape. Today, the vivid blue sky and tawny ground remind me of my first glimpses of the golden California hills in summer as well as the Ukrainian flag. Mostly, I notice that the boots are empty. I didn’t know that my feet would grow with each pregnancy and that I would outgrow my beloved boots. I hung onto those boots for years after I could no longer fit into them. Now only the painting remains.

I no longer have that pair of boots, but instead of one pair I have several. I have hiking boots. I have sexy black suede boots that come up past my knees. I have two pairs of dress cowgirl boots including the red leather ones I found in Albuquerque on a cross-country trip helping my daughter move. I also have leather barn boots as well as big black rubber boots that are good for mucking out stalls and rainy weather.

As I chose a topic for my blog, this painting called out to me. I am at another transition point, contemplating a serious lifelong commitment, again afraid of responsibility and inadequacy.

I had an imaginary horse as a girl, but I have never owned a horse.  As a grown woman, I have loved and cared for two elder horses in the last years of their lives. Other women owned them and took care of their day-to-day needs. I have studied equine-assisted learning, I have interviewed countless women about their experiences with horses and spent many years writing thousands of words about the connection between women and horses.

As I reflect on the painting and my fears when pregnant, I know that my fears were not unfounded. My life did change overnight with the birth of my son. Many times, I was unprepared and overwhelmed with the responsibility. There have been hard times and scary times. But what I forgot when I was pregnant and remind myself of now is the joy that I would have missed if I had never become a mom. Treasured moments of connection, of laughter, of love. Thousands of ordinary moments. And my fears of losing sleep and possibly breaking down? Middle of the night feedings of my babies remain some of my most priceless experiences.

In recent months, I have looked at the high costs of taking care of a horse and made some initial inquiries into boarding a horse. I have started a special savings account. I am afraid that I might not be able to meet his or her financial needs and concerned about my lack of horse skills. I think that this painting caught my attention now for a good reason. Like with being a mom and stepmom, I can learn new skills and ask for help. Now as, I contemplate having a horse companion come into my life, this painting reminds me to focus on the possibilities—and that taking a leap can bring unexpected joys and rewards.

The Biophilia Effect: The Healing Connection Between Humans and Nature

“I Have Hope in My Heart” is a nature goddess painting I created during a difficult time. She reminds me of the beauty and healing power of nature.    © 2017 Catherine Anne Held

I am currently reading the Biophilia Effect: A Scientific and Spiritual Exploration of the Healing Bond Between Humans and Nature by Clemens G. Arvay. Biophilia is a term coined by psychologist Erich Fromm and popularized by biologist Edward O. Wilson to name our intrinsic longing for nature. In Arvay’s book, the Austrian biologist presents research demonstrating that we are genetically wired to respond to nature and that our health not only benefits from our connection with nature but may also depend upon it.

Arvay describes studies of how trees give off biochemical substances that can strengthen our immune systems, the results of a 1984 study by Roger Ulrich showing that viewing a tree through a window can help hospital patients recover faster and even how to create an anti-cancer garden.

Continue reading “The Biophilia Effect: The Healing Connection Between Humans and Nature”